Janitor By Day, International Art Thief By Night
by wolfpackof1
Summary: I wrote my thesis on janitorial fiction, you know.
1. Prologue

It took him just under two minutes to disable the alarm—a new personal best, he thought vaguely, as he eased open the safe door and slipped into the darkened room.

The prize was right there, sitting out in the open. An Arthur Rackham original—he had never seen one in person. Looking through his ski mask, he examined the fantastic scene. Beautiful. No matter how many times he did this, he never lost his appreciation for the art itself.

As the moment passed, he took out his streamlined pocket knife and began to carefully cut the painting away from the ornate frame it sat in. It was a shame, really—the gold alone on it would probably be worth a few thousand dollars—but orders were orders, after all. His anonymous buyer had given specific instructions that he wanted the painting only.

The masterpiece fell away from its border cleanly. Making sure it lay flat, he slid it into the box he had brought expressly for this purpose.

Then he turned, shutting the safe door behind him, exited the bank, and slipped off into the night.


	2. Chapter 1

Gordy yawned hugely, leaning against the mop. The flight from Switzerland hadn't gotten in until six that morning, forcing him to catch a taxi directly from the airport to Polk Middle School.

_I really need to find a job that starts later in the day_, he thought. Then he shook his head, dispelling the idea. Of course he didn't _need_ the income from Polk—his, shall we say, "night job" more than covered the expenses of one single man—he did it because he loved it. The kids were always a trip, and as for his coworkers—

"Gordy! Sleeping on the job again!" An oily voice jerked him out of his thoughts.

"Crubbs!" Gordy said with false enthusiasm. "How you doing, buddy?"

Crubbs scoffed. "Don't speak to me like that, Gordy. If you do it again, you're—"

"—Fired," Gordy finished. "I know, I know."

Pulling down his sunglasses, Crubbs narrowed his eyes. "Are you being sarcastic with me, Gordy?"

"Never!" Gordy grinned, and Crubbs slunk away.

He managed to stay awake the rest of the morning (just barely)—through three spills, two episodes of recycled homework, and one unconfirmed weasel sighting.

Just as he was unlocking his office (read: supply closet) to take what he felt was a well-deserved midday nap, Gordy felt a tap on his shoulder.

"Gordy, can I talk to you about something?" came a small, nasally voice.

Internally, Gordy sighed. He loved helping the students, he really did—but can't a guy get a break every once in a while? Turning around, he sighed internally.

"Hi, Lisa," he said. "What's wrong?"

Lisa sniffed, and took a shot from her decongestant. "It's Cookie," she said. "I don't think he notices me—"

Gordy took a deep breath. "Be yourself, don't change who you are for anyone, I'm sure he'll figure it out eventually, you're a great girl, don't beat yourself up, there's someone out there for everyone, he's an idiot if he doesn't like you, everything will be okay in the end."

Lisa brightened. "Thanks, Gordy. You always know just what to say!" She skipped off.

Phew. Crisis averted. Usually he wouldn't mind talking to Lisa, but he had business to take care of. The Rackham painting was still in his office, as he hadn't had time to deal with it before his shift began at school.

He retrieved the box, careful not to jostle the priceless contents, and tried to be as discreet as possible while he crept out the back service entrance of the school and into the teachers' parking lot. He looked at his watch—high noon.

The buyer was waiting, just as agreed upon, in a black town car with tinted windows. On the side closest to Gordy, the back window rolled down.

"The painting is intact, I presume?" came a deep voice without pretense.

Gordy nodded. "And my compensation?" he asked.

"Thirty thousand US currency, all in unmarked bills," the voice responded. "Have I ever shortchanged you?" This last part was phrased with a touch of humor.

"Never," Gordy had to admit. Glancing around to make sure they were not being watched, he slid the painting in through the window. After a short pause, he took the proffered leather case with the promised money.

"Always good doing business with you," the man in the car said before rolling the window back up. A moment later, the car pulled away smoothly.


End file.
